


Precious Gifts

by jdrush



Series: 221 B Ficlets [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Ficlet, Birthday Fluff, The Holmes Boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 12:50:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20097496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdrush/pseuds/jdrush
Summary: What do you get The British Government for his birthday?  A 221B ficlet.





	Precious Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> TITLE: Precious Gifts  
AUTHOR: J.D. Rush  
FANDOM: BBC Sherlock  
RATING: G  
SUMMARY: What do you get The British Government for his birthday? A 221B ficlet.  
DISCLAIMER: These lovely boys belong to Sir ACD, BBC1, and Moffat and Gatiss  
AUTHOR’S NOTEs: Yippee! I finally wrote a kid!Lock fic. Go me! No betas were harmed in the making of this story.  
AUTHOR'S NOTES PART 2: Slowly uploading my old fanfics to the archive. This one was originally posted to my LJ October, 2012.

October 16, 1981

For hours, Sherlock sat in his room, trying to think up a gift for his big brother. “Make him something,” Mummy suggested, but what? Definitely not a card or a drawing--too dull. No, it had to be different, special. Night was falling--he was running out of time. With a frustrated sigh, he gazed out his window. . .and knew.

He grabbed a jar from the kitchen, then slipped silently out the side door. It took him longer than he expected, but with unprecedented patience he filled his jar. Screwing the lid on, he could barely contain his excitement. 

Mycroft was going to love it!

And he did.

October 17, 2012

It’d been sixteen months since Sherlock‘s ‘death‘, and many weeks since Mycroft last heard from him. He hated it. Hated the danger Sherlock was in. Hated his inability to keep his brother safe. Yes, the job needed to be done. It didn’t make the waiting any less agonizing. 

Or lonely. 

Stepping into the darkened kitchen of his flat after yet another day of pointless politicking, Mycroft spotted a jar on the table. A jar that wasn‘t there that morning. A jar filled with flittering, glowing fireflies. Long forgotten memories rushed back, and a relieved smile crossed his face as he read the tag:

To My-my. Happy Birthday.  
THE END


End file.
